Effie Gray

SOPRANO
SINGING TEACHER
CLASSICAL MUSIC REVIEWER

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Die Zauberflöte by W. A. Mozart at the Vienna Volksoper was reviewed on June 20th 2024, and continues from the 6th of September.

Populated by a myriad of magical puppet creatures, Henry Mason’s 2020 Die Zauberflöte is a cracker. The magic flute is a dragonfly that flutters around Tamino, and the magic bells are embodied by a wee character on legs that follows Papageno, pure genius. There is a Greek chorus of very funny puffins, and the snake at the beginning is enormous. Puppet doubles of Tamino, Pamina and the three boys give the main protagonists a glimpse of their deepest desires. These puppets are the work of Rebekah Wild and operated by master puppeteers. They are utterly charming and manage the delicate balance of enhancing the story and never upstaging the singers. Sarastro’s lair is straight out of the Indiana Jones playbook; the surroundings are luscious gold, and the baddies are in 1930s riding breaches.David Kerber as Tamino, has a ringing Italianate tenor, and his ‘Dies Bildnis ist bezaubernd schön’, is deeply moving. Sophia Burgos’ Pamina is a little wild at the top at times. However, she does have to sing her aria, ‘Ach, ich fühl's’, whilst continually walking on a revolving stage. This aria might seem simple after the Queen of the Night’s fireworks, but its brilliance and difficulty is its stillness. Surely, her inner journey can be visualised while allowing Pamina Mozart’s stillness. Alina Wunderlin is a thrilling Queen of the Night with a voice rich in tone up to the F in alt. During the coloratura in “Der Hölle Rache", there is impressive arm and dagger choreography. Alexandre Beuchat is a joyous Papageno. The famous ‘pa pa pa’ duet when he finally meets his Papagena is glorious. Lots of little Papagenos and Papagenas appear and populate the bright green stage, and Papageno serves up a barbeque as the finale draws to a close. The three boys from the Vienna Boys Choir sing beautifully, full of passion, as they try to stop Papageno from hanging himself. Other shout-outs go to Karl-Michael Ebner, a terrific tenor as Monostatos and Stefan Cerny’s commanding bass as Sarastro.The orchestral sound is pure Mozart. However, Tobias Wögerer sets off at a breakneck speed in the overture, and the Act 1 quintet is like an express train. This causes the occasional ragged entry, but the overall impression is totally authentic.It was heartwarming to see so many multi-generational families and children enjoying this magical show. Tickets are available from 4 Euros, and the house provides surtitles in English.

Falstaff by Giuseppe Verdi at the Vienna Staatsoper on the 21st of June 2024, continues until the 30th of June.

Written in Verdi's twilight years, Verdi's final opera and comic masterpiece, Falstaff (1893), is based on scenes from three of Shakespeare's plays: The Merry Wives of Windsor and Henry IV, parts 1 and 2. It features wittily drawn characters and some of the most glorious ensembles in the repertoire.Marco Arturo Marelli's 2003 staging, set and lighting create contrasting worlds.  An underground sewer as the Garter Inn is coloured with children's orange and yellow crayons and paints. Thus, reflecting both Falstaff's baseness and his childlike simplicity.  The ladies' world above the ground shimmers with spring and summer colours; the women are bright, intelligent, and in charge. Dagmar Niefind's quirky costume designs add to the characterisation.   Ford is disguised as a Chicago gangster, and his henchmen are bowler-hatted London wide-boys.  Bardolfo and Pistola bounce about in Commedia dell' Arte costumes, and the very English Dr Cajus always carries an umbrella.  Falstaff's courting outfit is full-fat Elizabethan in glorious orange.  The Windsor Great Park is a very Austrian-looking forest with majestic pine trees. It is, however, a magical setting in midnight blue and glimmering fairy lights.Italian baritone and Verdi specialist Luca Salsi delivers a splendid Falstaff, breathing life into his character with his superb vocal quality throughout his range, a fun falsetto, and an impressive tummy. Boris Pinkhasovich's performance as Ford is simultaneously ardent, furious, and baffled and his È sogno o realtà? is worth the price of the ticket!  Slávka Zámečníková's lyric soprano glides through the role of Nannetta with luscious floated high notes. Unfortunately, Hiroshi Amako's beautiful tenor is somewhat underpowered as Fenton.  The trio of ladies, Roberta Mantegna as Alice Ford, Isabel Signoret's Meg Page and Monika Bohinec as Mistress Quickly, form a tight ensemble; their fast and wordy numbers are crisp and punchy. The final chorus is a joyful party of paper hats and coloured cardboard letters spelling 'Tutto nel mondo è burla.' (Everything in the world is a joke). Under the baton of Thomas Guggeiss, the excellent orchestra of the Staatsoper is gloriously fluid; a special shout-out goes to the bassoons, which characterise Falstaff so brilliantly.The Vienna Staatsoper has 435 standing-room places with benches for leaning on. Tickets are available on the day from 13 euros.   This world-class and fun production is worth the trip to Vienna for opera lovers everywhere.

Die Walkure, Wagner, Royal Opera House, 2023

Die Flieglande Hollander (1843), or the Flying Dutchman, represents a milestone in Wagner's development as an opera composer. Three numbers were written as audition pieces for the Paris Opera, and the choruses have a strong whiff of Gilbert and Sullivan. Wagner’s authentic voice emerges in the recurring themes, the orchestral depiction of the storm and the Dutchman’s monumental vocal line. Obsession, greed and redemption loom large in this version of the Flying Dutchman’s tale. The sea captain, Dalland, is happy to sell him his daughter, Senta, for untold wealth. She is so obsessed with the legend of the Dutchman and, ultimately, the Dutchman himself that she flings herself into the sea to save his soul. Some voices of sanity sing long and loud, but neither Senta nor her father heeds them.Water ran through Tim Albery ‘s production; however, the sound of running water just before the overture added nothing except perhaps some disquiet in the audience. I liked the curtains of blue rain and swirling mist that swept across the front of the stage as the storm ripped through the orchestra in the overture. Michael Levine’s capacious and deconstructed set evolved into smaller spaces, allowing the intimate storylines to unfold. Sometimes, the effect was created by David Finn’s lighting. At other times, the ship’s hull opened to become the Norwegian Sailors’ mess and later the ghostly haunt of the Dutchman’s crew. Strategically placed round lights gave the unsettling impression of an old sailing ship in the background. When the set opened up fully and was filled with sailors, I could feel the vastness and might of the sea. In Act 2, a sewing factory descended from the flies, and this setting for the women worked well. Their reflection in the omnipresent water along the front of the stage foreshadowed Senta’s watery grave. Instead of a portrait of the Dutchman to moon over, Senta had a miniature sailing ship. Senta moved this ship around the set throughout the evening, and it sometimes seemed like the Dutchman's ship on the horizon.Sir Bryn Terfel, as the Dutchman, cut a lonely figure, as half in shadow he dragged a massive rope across the stage. His monologue, full of spitting German, had the nuanced phrases of a lied. He effortlessly rode the vast waves of the score, ending his monologue in blazing light, both literally and vocally. He took every opportunity to lighten his voice, which glided through the vocal line, particularly in his Act 1 duet. The occasional pianissimo high note didn’t always come off, but this was a gripping performance with intention behind every word. The Swedish soprano Elisabet Strid, a pure-voiced Senta, made this taxing role sound easy. The thing about true dramatic sopranos is that they don’t actually sound dramatic but instead have the quality of a warm lyric that can be easily heard over the forces of a Wagnerian orchestra. In Miss Strid, we heard the real McCoy. Her rich, fluid line flew with ease through this most dramatic of scores. I liked Senta conjuring her ballad out of a candle flame with her gentle ‘yohohoe’ and her glorious high bs, which soared above the orchestra as the tension ratcheted up. The bullying and mistreatment of her by the Dutchman's ghostly crew in their last chorus was disturbing. Danish bass Stephen Milling was a characterful cigarette-smoking Dalland, and he had fun with his buffo bass line in his Act 1 duet with the Dutchman. Nicky Spence, as Eric, was not on his best form; his duet with Senta dragged somewhat, although she did some lovely things vocally. However, his ‘dream aria’ was effective. I liked Finnish tenor Miles Mykkanen as the Steersman. He sang the ‘Steersman song’ simply and with a clear ringing tone. His opening lines were bravely sung from high up a ladder.The augmented ROH chorus of Norwegian sailors was a force of nature as they hauled enormous rigging across the stage, danced, and drank. They had the testosterone-filled sound of a rugby team, but thankfully, they were much more tuneful! In contrast, the choruses of the ghostly, and suitably green-looking Dutchman’s crew, oozed into the auditorium. The women’s chorus had a gorgeous blend and lovely lilt, particularly in their spinning song. The effect of these forces working together to wake the Dutchman’s crew was exciting.Under the baton of Henrik Nánási, the ROH orchestra whipped up a convincing storm. They did seem to slip into nineteenth-century ballet mode occasionally, but so does the score! I liked Tim Albery's more realistic ending to this tale of blind obsession. The Dutchman and Senta did not rise to heaven. The Dutchman left, and Senta lay centre upstage, as if dead and clutching her miniature boat.

Jephtha, Handel, Royal Opera House November 2023

That whatsoever cometh forth of the doors of my house to meet me, when I return in peace from the children of Ammon, shall surely be the Lord’s, and I will offer it up for a burnt offering.’ Such is the vow of Jephtha, the eponymous hero of Handel’s final Oratorio. Taken from the Old Testament Book of Judges, it tells Jephtha’s story; he is an exiled warrior who returns to lead Israel in battle against the Ammonites. Jephtha makes the aforementioned vow and is triumphant in battle. To his great distress, it is his daughter, Iphis, who comes forth from his house. Fortunately, an angel intervenes and saves her from sacrifice. Nonetheless, she is destined to live the rest of her life as a virgin dedicated to God.Nameless in the Bible, she was fleshed out by Handel’s librettist Thomas Morell. Morell also gave her a young lover, Hamor, and a feisty mother, Storgè. Jephtha was first performed at the Covent Garden Theatre in 1752, and it was revived this season after some 270 years in a staged production directed by Oliver Mears. Although a rather grim tale of oppression, war, and human sacrifice, it is packed with wonderful melodies. Baroque fans can play spot the tune as it is full of phrases from Handel’s other works and even from other composers such as Purcell and Galuppi. The score’s pathos and despair reflect Handel’s struggles with his failing eyesight. Giant moving grey tablets, inscribed with the fatal oath, framed every scene. This made much of the action difficult to see with Ilona Karas’s grey costumes set against the backdrop of Simon Lima’s grey set. Do opera directors ever look at their work from a distance? This production would have been greatly improved by a contrasting colour scheme. There was a strong echo of the Salem witch trials as the Israelites were dressed as 17th Century Puritans, and a stake was erected for Iphis in the final scene. The Israelites spent most of their time praying, sometimes in hysterical fervour, until Jephtha whipped the men up to fight. The Ammonites were a flash of colour in a scene of Hogarthian decadence. They danced and fiddled as the austere Israelites set their frivolous possessions ablaze, with violins, paintings, and chandeliers reduced to ashes. The Ammonite’s 18th Century costumes were excellent, but their wearers were galloping around in a 19th Century polka. Plenty of original resources for 17th/18th Century dance exist and a gigue can be just as wild as any polka. Movement director Anna Morrissey’s dance for Iphis and the virgins in, "Welcome as the Cheerful Light" had a nice period feel. Fabiana Piccioli’s shadow puppet show effect heightened this mood. Why, oh why, was Jephtha dressed in a nightcap and gown straight out of Gilbert and Sullivan’s nightmare scene as he offered up his vow? This costume weakened Jephtha’s portrayal as a religious zealot. Hamor’s return from battle, bloodied and traumatised, gave a shocking jolt of realism. But this production had some baffling elements: the ladies who dressed Iphis as a nun seemed to chastise her, and Jephtha was cast out of society at the end. I did enjoy Iphis and Hamor ignoring her vow and running off together. The soloists and chorus were often allowed stillness; this, coupled with the set, which acted as an excellent soundboard, enabled some nuanced singing. Alan Clayton was an expressive and powerful Jephtha. We heard the plaintive sound of a broken man in, ‘Hide thou oh hated beams,’ and his, ‘Waft her, angels,’ was achingly beautiful. His ‘Open thy marble Jaws’, was if anything too beautiful, and could have done with a bit more edge, from both singer and orchestra. He was well matched by Alice Coote as his wife Storge. Her nightmare scene, ‘scenes of horror, scenes of woe,’ was also a bit too beautiful, but her, ‘first perish thou,’ was gutsy and edgy as she snarled with fury. Jennifer France, as Iphis, delivered all her coloratura with ease, and she gave us some gorgeous phrasing, particularly in ‘The soft melodious lute.’ Her bright soprano didn’t quite blend with countertenor Cameron Shahbazi as Hamor’s more mellow tones in their duet, ‘These labours past.’ However, this was still effective due to some highly convincing flirting! Shahbazi also gave us a stunning pianissimo da capo in ‘Happy They.’ I do like a bass singing Handel, and they don’t come any better than Brindley Sherratt’s Zebul; it’s a shame that his Act 2 aria was cut. Stand-out choral moments were the vocal blend in, ‘How Dark Oh Lord,’ and the exciting fugal choruses. The final chorus was sung from the stalls in glorious surround sound as ripped-up vows floated down on the audience like confetti, absolutely joyous.The orchestra, replete with theorboes, was conducted from the harpsichord in true Handelian style by Baroque specialist Laurence Cummings. He looked after his singers, giving them freedom and time for dramatic pauses and exquisite baroque decorations. The orchestra often played a true accompanying role, which was no mean feat. They had a cohesive sound with a gentle pulse and dance-like energy. It is a cruel paradox that this Oratorio of an ancient story should resonate so strongly with current events in the Middle East.

Il Trovatore and Don Carlos The Royal Opera House

The final season of Sir Antonio Pappano’s twenty-one-year tenure as Musical Director of the Royal Opera House included two Verdi blockbusters, Adele Thomas’ new production of Il Trovatore and Nicholas Hytner’s classic production of Don Carlo. Together, they add up to over five hours of pure drama. Both operas are set in wartime Spain in the 15th and 16th centuries, respectively. Their scores are infused with Spanish flavour, particularly in the rhythmic writing for both the singers and the orchestra.Il Trovatore (1853), which lies between two of Verdi’s biggest hits, Rigoletto and La Traviata, has always been popular with the public, but it was panned by some critics in Verdi’s day. The plot was considered ridiculous, and it was thought that the extreme vocal demands would kill off bel canto. The vocal demands and plot of both these operas are ridiculous and extreme but with Verdi’s magic, they are totally compelling.In Il Trovatore, a noble lady falls in love with a lowly troubadour. Add in a jealous count, brothers separated at birth and the wrong baby thrown into a fire as an act of vengeance and one has a very potent mix. The action takes place at a time when many women were burned at the stake. When one also realises that as a baby, Verdi himself was lucky to escape a massacre in which many women and children of his village were killed, the plot seems less fantastical.Annemarie Woods’ set of huge steps that crossed the stage, was all rather cold and grey looking, especially for an opera that has fire at its heart. A giant gargoyle-mouthed curtain, that framed the end of each scene, gave the fleeting impression of troubadours playing in a grand castle. The steps, coupled with Annemarie Woods’ costumes and Franck Evin’s lighting, gave some stunning freeze frames akin to the illustrations in the iconic Ladybird history series. Count di Luna’s shimmering golden cloak and the nuns’ golden halos warmed things up, and the opera gradually reached its boiling point with a blaze of scarlet as Azucena’s revenge was complete. The soldiers were picturesque, with large shields and chainmail. The gypsies were another matter entirely, they were simply awful. Some had paper mâché animal heads; others were wearing jumpsuits with skeletons on them; yet more were dressed in giant chevrons, as if trying to slow down the traffic. They cavorted about, popping out of a trapdoor, and cartwheeling all over the place. However, what really put my teeth on edge was their inane bopping about in time to the Anvil Chorus. I know it’s very famous and has an oompah tune, but to take it down to its most inane level was ridiculous. The cavorting continued through Jamie Barton’s stunning, Stride la vampa! (The fire roars), which was met with a stunned silence from the audience. Dark clouds descended as Jamie Barton’s burnt face Azucena sang of throwing her baby on the fire. This was also met with a profound silence from a packed house. I felt this time it was due to the extraordinary impact of Miss Barton’s delivery, and I am pleased to report that at her curtain call she was met with a thunderous ovation.The Count di Luna was followed around by four dancers with horns on, which I saw as huge hunting dogs, all be it with horns. Although strange, I thought they worked quite well as an expression of the Count’s ego and inner desires. Thanks to my slightly late arrival courtesy of our railway system, I was not able to read the programme notes prior to the performance. The dogs with horns and the gypsies were all explained within. Annemarie Woods had taken her cue from the medieval setting rather than the 19thcentury scoring. She felt that the opera had suffered over the years from ‘four people standing in front of the chorus’ and that the play was set in a time ‘in which monsters and heaven and hell are not mere concepts.’ Hence, we had the skeleton gypsies, the animal heads, and the dogs with horns or perhaps they were devils. I have no idea what the chevrons were meant to represent.As Caruso said, ‘the only thing you need for Trovatore is the four best singers in the world’, and I would add a terrific orchestra and chorus. I am happy to report that all of these were present and correct! Rachel Willis-Sørensen was a compelling Leonora, with a voice that tripped out the delicate coloratura sections with ease, warmth in her middle and lower registers and the power of a Verdi heroine to let rip when required. I wasn’t keen on Gregory Kunde’s softer singing as Manrico but by golly could he sing the big arias. You don’t get much bigger tenor arias than those in Il Trovatore. He sang them all with true bel canto style and a touch of added panache. Ludovic Tézier was absolutely fantastic as Count di Luna. His fine baritone voice was rich throughout the range and his aria, Il balen del suo sorriso, (The flashing of her smile) brought the house down. Roberto Tagliavini as Ferrando had a wonderfully rich resonant bass voice. Royal Opera House chorus member, Marianne Vidal, jumped in to sing the part of Ines with a delightful warm lyric quality and floating high notes, no wonder the chorus sounded so fabulous. This was an orchestrally exciting performance. Under the baton of Sir Antonio Pappano, the playing was tight, with real drive and the brass were on fire. Even when the orchestra was being a giant Spanish guitar, it had a pulsating energy, and the orchestral shivers when Leonora died sent chills down my spine.Don Carlo is Verdi’s great political drama based on the Schiller play Don Carlos (1787). It was written for the Opera de Paris in 1866, but it went through almost 20 years of rewrites before the current Italian version was premiered in 1887. Although this is a political drama, it is all about love and its opposite pure evil. Youthful love thwarted, parental love denied, and brotherly love are all played out against the monstrous evil and fear of the Spanish Inquisition. This was nectar to Verdi’s pen and resulted in some heart-stopping music and spectacular arias.In the opening scene, the freezing woods of Fontainebleau acted as a glittering backdrop, as Lise Davidsen’s feisty Elizabeth of Valois marked her prey with her gun. Bob Crowley’s set and Mark Henderson’s lighting gave a tangible sense of place to all scenes. One could feel the ice crackling in the trees in the forest and taste the stone-cold air as it hung in cavernous cloisters. There was a lot of fun Spanish fan action in the garden scene, with Ella Taylor’s lovelorn Tebaldo teased by Princess Eboli and the ladies’ chorus. The orange sky that slowly turned to blood red, gave this an added sense of disquiet. A huge golden cathedral framed the bustling Act 3 finale, and the chorus nearly took the roof off. Interestingly, the heretics were not burned on stage, as I have seen previously in this production at the Met. Perhaps, in the emotional climate of our day, too many trigger warnings would have been required.Brian Jagde was a powerfully voiced Don Carlo. His aria, Io lo vidi, was breath-taking. His voice blended beautifully with Luca Micheletti for a heart-warming oath duet in Act 2, the gorgeous soft pianissimo verse giving added intimacy. Lise Davidsen matched Brian Jagde’s power in their thrilling duets. She sang her Act 5 aria, Tu che le vanità (You who knew the vanities) with a warm rich middle voice, full chest notes, big sweeping phrases, and knife-edged high notes. After all of that, she was able to float a perfect pianissimo at the end of her final duet. Yulia Matochkina was a phenomenal Princess Eboli, with a rich liquid tone throughout her range. She made light work of the technically fiendish Veil Song and her voice blended beautifully with Ella Taylor’s, Tebaldo, in the choruses. If you are fond of the bass voice, then this is the opera for you! John Relyea was a warm-voiced King Philip the Second, his aria Ella giammai m'amò (She never loved me) was heart-felt. His scene with Taras Shtonda’s terrifying Grand Inquisitor was gripping. Mr Relyea expressed King Philip’s vacillating emotions of brute force, paranoia and finally pathos through extraordinary vocal colours. In the end, I actually felt sorry for him, even though he had condemned his son to death. Alexander Köpeczi was a resonant and echoing ghostly Charles V and Sarah Dufresne’s Voice from Heaven was simply divine.Under the baton of Bertrand de Billy, the orchestra of the Royal Opera House did not quite have the fizz that it had in Il Trovatore, but they still delivered the goods. The cellos deserve a mention for their luscious playing in the Act 3 grand finale and all of the oboe solos were beautiful. Despite my quibbles about the gypsies, I was captivated by both of these performances. No one can make an opera out of a disaster or, in this case, multiple disasters, quite like Verdi!

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Music in Lockdown - Feature, 6 pages.

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